


Deception Part 1

by Wintermancer



Series: Deception [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 22:10:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6302218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintermancer/pseuds/Wintermancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of life post inquisition. Including Dorian Pavus, a high ranking trader in the city of Minrathous, and Blackwall, the Warden Commander of the recently established "Journeys end" keep.  Deception challenges the idea that post inquisition, life can ever go back to being normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deception Part 1

The melting frost from a night's chill clung to to a window pane hard set in the carved stone of the merchant's guild headquarters in Minrathous. The capital city’s port bustling in the morning light with fishermen and merchants seeking to buy fresh fish, and the customers buying said fish from the merchants. The chain of sale expertly choreographed, pleasing to the eye if not obfuscated by the smell of the catch.

A withdrawn Elf tirelessly scrubs the dried wax from a decorative Orlesian wine-bottle come candle stick holder, her hands calloused and well worn. Visible breaths of cold air escape from  
more Elven serfs as they prepare their masters the morning meals. Carefully dusting the gilded frame of a portrait of First Archon Darnius. Another Elf, this one tall and bearing Dalish marks, notices a red letter poking its way just under the lower frame of the painting. Taking it into his hands, words, expertly scribed in black ink, made out the text bearing the master’s title on the flat side of the letter. The reverse of the envelope bore a wax seal, with a noticeable, yet crude carving of an 'S' cut into what looked like what was originally supposed to be the stamp of a lord. Not tempted to open the letter himself, the Elf tucked the mysterious envelope inside his dusty robe.

Across the sandy brick paved street of what joins the guild to the local market square, two magi traders, wrapped in traditional Tevinter garb engage in the morning ritual of discussing  
the week's mercantile situations. Loudly denouncing the Qunari as the reasons for lost coin in this season's whale harvest, the two begin to make their way to the market square. The time mere minutes away from the day's market valuing. A crowd of well dressed merchants gather in anticipation before a large stone obelisk.

"Five gold on Drakestone" A voice shouted, quickly greeted by another merchant wishing to sell their stakes.

"Twenty on Elfroot" Another, deeper voice attracted the attention of several traders, eager to free up their inventory to move onto another day's product.

More and more trades completed with urgency; the merchant guild's stockmasters racing to keep up with the volume of customers trying to split their stocks to sell lower quantities faster before the announcement of the day’s valuations could be made.

Trade in Tevinter, whilst being a form of non magical entertainment for many of the richer folk, is also a very volatile and dangerous profession for others. Recent tensions between the Tevinter Imperium and the Nevarran Monarchy have caused huge fluctuations in the prices of foreign commodities, such as Nevarran wine and medicinal Dragon-bone dust. Depending on the state of affairs, products that are harder to procure may rise in price, and whilst one may assume this is good for a trader, the possibility of losing buyers for their expensive stock makes the purchase of such foreign products, without a buyer ready, a gamble.

 

Amongst the again yelling torrent of Tevinter merchants, A vermillion cloaked figure pushed through the wall of bodies towards the guild stall, slammed down a large sack of coins and a purchase order form. Saying nothing in the form of words, the scrap of parchment speaking all, th Returning to the anonymity of the careless gathering, the ruby clad stranger smirked.

At last the bell signalling the start to the new item and coinage rates rang. Several Merchant Magi began to disenchant the previous tallies, and enchant the new numbers onto the obelisk, carefully guarding their magic with 'anti-tamper' curses to prevent cheats and thieves from making a quick coin at the guild’s expense. 

The city flags hung still in the breezeless air above the port wall parapets, mimicking the momentarily silent crowd. It was clear everyone gathered was too busy mentally assessing the situation to make a move, carefully strategizing their next play and planning today’s game. Surely, like an inevitable tide, the first ones to make their decisions began to shout and wave, whilst others made a break for the merchant guild staff.

Taking a look at the commodities board (Of which the Tevinter traders use to see both the market value, and units available of physical products) the stranger saw the value of honey both increasing in value by two-hundred percent, whilst stock available dropped drastically. Like Bees to the aforementioned honey, merchants immediately began to scream and shout desperately for someone to sell, as if a product was to increase in value by two-hundred percent, the wealth gained from the next day could be obscene. Selling back directly to the guild, the red-cloaked person, collected her day’s winnings and withdrew to the shadows.

Back within the merchant’s guild headquarters, the Tall Dalish looking Elf, the red letter still in his possession, had just finished his morning rounds. Duteously, and with pride in his step, he ascended the ornate staircase connecting the upper dining rooms. The Elf strode to the offices of which expert Altus Enchanters and their Laetan Apprentices used magical spells to automate their banking process, dispel any cursed or hexed items; so to be further traded, and enchant others to increase their value. Carefully avoiding the documents littering the flood, The Servant continued along the marble checkered floor; stopping to bow to any Magi that so happened to pass by. As usual, the Tevinters simply ignored his presence. One may find this to be rude, but not being beaten or ridiculed would suggest this action polite.

Enchanters have for a long time been an asset to the merchant guild’s repertoire of income strategies. Aside from protecting them against magical threats, such a theft and curses, experienced Enchanters can do anything from prolong the life of perishable goods, to turn an ordinary fighting blade into a fire-toting death stick. Most magi-Enchanter’s as per guild tradition, are assigned an apprentice, as being part of such a wealthy group usually means at least one person is going to try to kill you, and if they do, someone trustworthy and skilled must replace them.

 

The Elf servant however, was not visiting a magi with an apprentice, as this Enchanter has proven rather formidable, and very hard to kill. Despite these facts, to a great deal of Elves this Tevinter is considered a friend. Not that any Elf in service would claim to have a Tevinter as common company, the consequences of such a claim would prove most disagreeable for both the Elf and the Tevinter’s social status in question, but the actions of this Enchanter are unlike most men of Thedas, and so a blind eye is turned both out of respect and gratitude.

The bold Dalish knocked thrice upon the solid mahogany door at the far end of the corridor, the flat sound of which reverberated along the perfect acoustics of the hall. An action few serf Elves in this establishment would dare do. Magi still walking turned their heads in the Elf’s direction before snatching their heads back and apprehensively hurrying back to their respective office rooms. 

“Enter...” The voice from inside, refined and with a strong Tevinter accent spoke with a clear tone of abject boredom. 

“Mi-lord, a delivery for you.” The Elf spoke as quickly as he entered, pacing directly to the Enchanter’s ornately carved desk whilst pulling a slightly bent red envelope from his robe.


End file.
